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in the end…everyone dies alone

I have tell-tale signs of a fever, and I’m hoping it doesn’t actually turn into a full-blown flu or fever, because I have exams and I’m not sure I’d want to be answering exams in air-conditioned rooms while in that state. I’ll probably have to, though, if it comes to that, and I’ll try to not let it affect my answers too much, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’d prefer answering my exams with just the annoyances outlined in my opening paragraph, and without any sort of actual temperature.

Exciting times.

I finished Kerouac’s Desolation Angels yesterday, and I have to say that it’s quite an enjoyable book. It started getting good just before the middle (I think) and stayed good until the end. I greatly enjoyed the way Kerouac wrote and I liked the character of Jack Duoloz and his “adventures” across countries and continents. It’s a thought-provoking, introspective and insightful road novel, I think, and it’s made me want Kerouac. I might put my next Murakami acquisition on hold and get On the Road or something.

Reading Desolation Angels brought about this odd desire in me to, one day, live on the road, perhaps alone, perhaps with friends, going from place-to-place, staying in hotels and friends’ houses and just writing, writing and writing some more. Unachievable, perhaps, judging by how the world’s changing, but hey, a man can dream, right?

A few hours after I finished Desolation Angels, I started two more books: Bruen’s Priest (to go along with The Hackman Blues, which is quite an entertaining read, as usual with Bruen) and Camus’ The Plague. I read through Part I of The Plague last night, and I enjoyed it a lot. I forsee myself reading lots of it in the days to come (suitably, the “days to come” are exam days, mostly~). I like Camus’ writing style, which is certainly quite a distance away from most of the books I’ve been reading recently (Desolation Angels, Snowblind, The Hackman Blues), a much more “classical”, “literary” way of writing, as opposed to the seeming spontaniety of Kerouac, the wit and almost-journalistic style of Sabbag and the tight, violent, powerful prose of Bruen, but I love them all the same.

I also like how Camus manages to bring about an actual sense of dread. It is, of course, translated very well too, so kudos to the translator, but if the original material isn’t good, the translation wouldn’t be much good either, yes?

And speaking of Bruen, I noticed last night that he’s the author whose name appears the most in my book collection: you can see his name on the spine of six books in my collection. While, yes, admittedly, part of the reason is because they’re mostly quite cheap at BookXcess (which is the only place I’ve found any Bruen, just for the record). Each (admittedly short, though) book in the White trilogy costs only RM4.90 there, as does the aforementioned Hackman Blues, while the other Bruen books I bought (Priest and Cross) cost RM17.90-ish, which is still quite cheap, comparatively. I’d pay more, really, just because Bruen is so awesome.

Cheap and bloody good: best combination ever, why lie?


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